


The Good Person of Lohac University

by hummingbirdbandit



Series: Strilonde Theme Sprints [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Anal Sex, Compulsion, Dubious Consent, Fic Jam, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hypnotism, M/M, Masturbation, Semi-Public Sex, Sirens, Sort of? - Freeform, Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 05:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14743215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummingbirdbandit/pseuds/hummingbirdbandit
Summary: Created for the Strilonde Fan Jam Discord Server Theme Sprints, fic-jammed in the Karkat Thirst Server.  This prompt was "magical/mundane AU's."The song that Dave sings in the booth is the "Song of Smoke," written by Bertolt Brecht for his play, "The Good Person of Szechwan."  The melody was written by Gerald Parks for DePauw University's 2017 theatre season, and the excerpt linked is performed by yours truly.





	The Good Person of Lohac University

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LandOfMistAndSecrets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LandOfMistAndSecrets/gifts).



> Created for the Strilonde Fan Jam Discord Server Theme Sprints, fic-jammed in the Karkat Thirst Server. This prompt was "magical/mundane AU's."
> 
>  
> 
> The song that Dave sings in the booth is the "Song of Smoke," written by Bertolt Brecht for his play, "The Good Person of Szechwan." The melody was written by Gerald Parks for DePauw University's 2017 theatre season, and the excerpt linked is performed by yours truly.

Karkat Vantas would never understand the preferential treatment the tech crew got during shows.  Four years bleeding, sweating and crying in this theatre and he had never once received a hint of recognition from anyone - not his professors, his fellow actors, and certainly not the auditorium director, Miss Harley.  Yet here he was, staring at some smug-ass transfer student eating a bag of doritos on his goddamn stage, with nary a word said to him. Any lesser man would have been castrated and hung from the rafters by their toes for bringing food backstage, and here he was just munching away while reclining on the set-piece Karkat had spent a full studio class painting just the previous day.

 

Now, Karkat could have let it slide.  He could have moved on and let the blonde asshole have his snack and get in trouble later when someone important caught him and chewed him out, and his whole life would have been so much simpler.  And he would have let it go, honest he would, if it weren't for one thing. The asshole was wearing sunglasses. Indoors. Now, that was one rung too far up the douchebag ladder for Karkat to let slide.  He opened his mouth to bitch at him, maybe force the theatre's rule manual down his throat as a dessert to follow those chips, but before he could, the old bird herself came rushing onstage - and smiled at him.

 

"Come on, Strider, we need you in the booth, not down here.  I'm taking a chance with letting you write the music for this one, so I need to see you working, not laying around!"

 

Karkat fumed.  How could this... this bespectacled waste of space get away with breaking one of the cardinal sins of the theatre, and get a smile?  If Karkat had tried that, he'd be a dead man.

 

"Sure thing, Miss H.  I'll get movin'. Only got about two more pieces to finish and then we'll be golden."  He reached over and tossed the empty bag into a bin clearly labeled "scrap wood" and wiped his hands on his skinny jeans.  In that moment, you were sure you had never hated someone so much. The boy, Strider, meandered off in the direction of the staircase and Karkat took a deep breath.  Fine. Fine! He didn't care, he had work to do. There were four set pieces yet to finish, and a monologue still to memorize before the next rehearsal. He cursed himself for picking up Production 405 and auditioning for the show at the same time, but it was only a halfhearted frustration.  This was his element.

 

Karkat dove into the pile of blueprints, roughly scratched onto discarded notebook paper, cardboard pieces, and even a piece of scrap wood, looking for something interesting to start on.  His next project in hand, he put himself to the grindstone. He hummed to himself absently as he worked, fetching wood, working the saws with a practiced hand, and giving instruction to the underclassmen who were just getting the hang of the space he had called home ever since he started at Lohac University.  Before he knew it, his studio class was over.

 

He stayed behind, like he did every day, to sweep sawdust and shut down machinery.  His was the last class of the day, and the shop needed to be put to rights before the next day's work could begin.  Few people wanted to do the grunt work, but Karkat found it calming - the repetitive movement of the broom and the showtunes playing in his earbuds relaxed him.  When he finished his closing routine he flipped the lights, hung the keys and went to leave.

 

The sound of music caught him off guard when he removed his headphones, and he snatched the keyring and fumbled in the dark to unlock the sound booth stairwell.  Whoever was up there last hadn't turned off the damn house sound, and some terribly shitty music was still echoing through the auditorium. Figures - it always fell to him to fix people's mistakes.  Not that he minded, really. Someone had to do it, and he couldn't trust anyone else to do things right.

 

He cursed under his breath as he made his way up the stairwell, but paused.  The music was louder here, as was to be expected, but there was an undercurrent of something else.  Someone was... singing? It was strangely compelling. Karkat leaned against the door to the booth, standing on tiptoes to peek inside the tiny, smeared window.

 

It was the sunglasses dude, from earlier.  Strider. He was laying on the floor of the booth, back against the wall, feet kicked up on a $1000 speaker and laptop on his lap.  His shades were tucked into his shirt, but from the angle he was laying, Karkat couldn't see his eyes. What he could see was a smattering of freckles against white skin, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and a pair of entrancing lips over perfectly straight teeth, upturned into an earth-shatteringly beautiful grin.  He was singing to himself, reciting the awful lyrics to the show you were about to be doing - some old German musical by Brecht - and somehow instead of sounding like a joke in his infuriating Texan twang, the [words](https://hummingbirdbandit.tumblr.com/post/174192007763/an-excerpt-from-the-song-of-smoke-written-for) made sense.

 

"They say the older folks have little left to hope for.  More time is what they need, and time is pressing. For the young, the world's a goddamned oyster - but you open it up on nothingness... so yes, I say drop it!  Like garbage that burns, leaving smoke twisting gray into ever colder coldness we'll blow away..."

 

Karkat let out a surprised sound, and the boy stopped singing, snapping his head upward to look straight at the door.  As their eyes met, Karkat felt a painful lurch in his gut like nothing he had ever felt. Strider scrambled for his sunglasses, slipping them back over his eyes and standing up to approach the door, but Karkat was already gone, bolting like a spooked deer on a clear midwestern night.  He careened down the stairs, dropped the keys by the door, and took off towards his dorm room, mind reeling and heart pounding. What the fuck was that?

 

Karkat spent the rest of the evening trying to rationalize what had happened, as well as trying to ignore the sudden surge of arousal that had hit as soon as Strider had looked at him.  It took three hours with his hand down his pants and a painfully cold shower before he could think straight and start to piece together what he had seen.

 

The boy's eyes were... well, they were red, first off, unlike anything he had ever seen.  And they were entrancing. The moment he had spent gazing into them felt like an eternity, and now that he was lying in his dorm room instead of staring at them, he felt a pang of longing.  He needed to see them again. But why? He had never felt such a compulsion to be near someone before, especially not some entitled jerk who breaks the rules and wears sunglasses indoors. Yet here he was, jacking off to the memory of Strider looking at him, and the sound of his southern drawl.  He groaned. This was embarrassing.

 

He hated the prick.  He didn't want to have anything to do with him.  It wasn't too late to drop from the show, and he had an understudy.  He didn't have to stay after and close up. Miss Harley would be disappointed but she hadn't seen it.  She didn't know. He couldn't be around Strider again. He needed to see him again.

 

Resigned in his solution, Karkat slipped into a restless sleep.

* * *

 

"What do you mean you're dropping the show, Karkat?" Mr. Egbert asked from behind his desk, adjusting his glasses and giving Karkat a concerned look.  Karkat sighed. He knew that getting the old man to let him drop after a month of rehearsals was going to be a challenge, but he couldn't willingly put himself that close to Strider again.  Whatever the fuck had happened up in the booth had him shaking, and he wasn't willing to analyze whether it was the fear or attraction that upset him more. This was the only solution.

 

"I mean I can't do it.  I took on too much at once.  Trying to balance shop and rehearsal is gonna make me half-ass them both and I don't want that."

 

"That didn't stop you every other year."  Karkat flinched. Shit. Egbert sighed and started to lazily tidy his desk.  "Listen, Karkat, I'm glad you came in actually. I was going to send someone to track you down.  I was looking at your transcripts and I realized that you have enough classes for a minor, as long as you get one more show in.  This show. I don't know if you want a theatre minor, as it doesn't really match with your major, but it would look good on paper.  Think it over. If you still want to drop tomorrow, I'll notify a fill-in, and you can drop. Sleep on it, alright?" A mischievous grin shone in Egbert's eyes, but his face was calm.  "And if you ever need to talk about what's bothering you, you know that my door is always open. I'm an advisor for a reason, you know."

 

Karkat left the office more frustrated than he had been going in.  Getting a minor with no extra work was incredible - he hadn't paid any attention to how many courses he had taken in the theatre, and Egbert was right, it would look amazing on his resume.  But staying on the show meant dealing with-

 

"Strider!  We need you down here, not in the booth.  I've got a practice room set up for you to teach the leads their parts.  Let's get moving!"

 

Someone fumbled with the house sound for a moment and a voice boomed through the auditorium.  "Yeah, about that, Miss H - I didn't know I was gonna be teachin' these guys. I'm just a writer."  The sound of his voice sent a shiver down Karkat's spine, and he struggled to keep his feet planted to the stagefloor instead of sprinting up to the booth and ravaging the guy.  His blood boiled. No one had ever bested Karkat Vantas before, and today was not going to be an exception.

 

"Come on, Dave, you're not going to be teaching so much as demonstrating.  You're the only one who has the melodies. How else are they gonna know what to sing?  Get over your stagefright and get your ass down here." Strider - Dave, Karkat noted with a roll of his eyes - made a noncommittal noise into the microphone and the house sound went dead.  Feet pounded down the stairs and out he came, wrapped in a red hoodie, skinny jeans, and shades tucked onto his face.

 

Karkat's stomach dropped at the sight of him.  Dave didn't look at him, but just his presence was a magnetic draw that Karkat could barely ignore.   Luckily, Dave seemed to be in just as big a hurry to distance himself as Karkat was, and strode off towards the practice rooms, laptop tucked under his arm and hands in his pockets.  Karkat watched him leave, and tried to decide what was worse - the pull towards him when he was present, or the empty ache when he was gone.

 

Shop class dragged on.  Tasks that he normally found relaxing instead bored him, and he found himself pawning grunt work off on the underclassmen so he could seek out a project big enough to distract him from the gnawing in his gut.  He finally busied himself with tying the scrim to the fly system, too invested in tying the knots properly to think of anything else. He waved off the offers to help and worked his way down the batten with practiced ease, slipping the cord through the holding loops and clipping backup holding wires at regular intervals.  After double and triple checking his work, he made his way to the fly rigging and took hold of the ropes.

 

"Scrim flying out!" he called, waiting for the answer that meant he had been heard before tugging the break loose and carefully raising the scrim high above the stage.  Perfection. Not a hitch in the process. Just like he liked it.

 

"We need to talk."

 

Karkat yelped and let go of the rope.  Before the scrim had the chance to fall and kill someone, a pale hand reached out and grabbed the break, slamming it home and slipping the metal bar over it to hold it in place.  Karkat followed the hand to an annoyingly familiar freckled face, and felt the compulsion he had been dealing with all day return to him. He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to hurt and arranged his face in a carefully enraged expression.

 

"Excuse me?  'We need to talk?'  I don't know who you think you are, Strider, but I don't even know you!  We are not going to talk about anything other than this show, because we are not a we!  Now would you leave me the fuck alone and stop doing whatever the fuck it is you're doing to my head!"

 

Dave ran a hand through his hair, and Karkat cursed the way his eyes followed the stretch of his body as he moved.  "Ah. Yeah, I thought you caught that. That's what we gotta talk about. We should probably talk somewhere more public than this, though.  Say, the McDonalds in town? After classes end, anyway, I got one more tonight yet and if I skip I'm gonna fail my test next week and that's a no go for me."

 

Karkat stared daggers into Dave.  A fucking date? He spends the whole day driving Karkat crazy by just... existing, and he asks him on a fucking date?  "I wouldn't go out with you if my only other option was to spend the rest of my life drilling pipe cleaners into my dick, Strider."

 

Dave let out a shocked laugh and leaned against the fly system - a flagrant safety hazard, of course, the douchestain - before reaching up to adjust his sunglasses.  "Look, dude, I don't wanna do this to you but you're already kinda fucked so might as well make this easier for both of us here." He took a deep breath and lowered his shades, and Karkat's head went fuzzy.  Suddenly nothing was more important than doing exactly what Dave wanted, when he wanted it. His body grew warm and needy, and he grinned happily. Dave sighed. "Tonight. 8pm. McDonalds. Don't bring anyone, don't tell anyone where you're going, and for the love of god, calm down a bit."

 

He popped his shades back on and Karkat slammed back into his feet with a jolt.  He didn't remember what had happened or why - all he knew was that it was Dave's fault, and he oughta strangle the bastard.  Somehow, though, the desire to do so passed quickly. "Okay. See you then, Dave." Dave smiled, and Karkat melted.

 

"Good talk, man."  He patted Karkat on the shoulder and swaggered off into the building.

* * *

 

Karkat floated through the rest of the day in a haze, driven with single-minded purpose towards his dinner date at the end of the evening.  He didn't catch a word of his classes but he couldn't bring himself to care. Caring would mean thinking and thinking just was not in the cards for him, no sir.  He had a date to catch with an asinine humpnugget in a red hoodie, and damn if that wasn't the only thing he could keep his mind on for more than a moment.

 

The McDonalds was crowded - of course.  It was a Friday night on a college campus.  McDonalds was a prime hotspot for drunk frat boys to hang out while they pregamed on gatorade bottles half filled with vodka and discounted chicken nuggets.  Karkat didn't bother to order - he plopped down into the only abandoned booth and looked at his watch. 8pm exactly. The clock changed and the happy haze he had been floating in vacated his body entirely, leaving him tired and irritated.  What the fuck? Why was he at McDonalds, alone, on a Friday night?

 

Before he could get up and leave, the door pinged and in strode Strider himself.  That uncomfortable pull returned and a surge of fear filled Karkat. Whatever this guy wanted, he didn't need to stick around and find out - he needed to get away, ASAP.  He waffled in the seat, struggling with the warring desires to stay and flee, and Dave slid into the booth across from him.

 

"Relax, dude, I'm not gonna bite ya."  None of the earlier compulsion followed the request.  Maybe he did just want to talk.

 

"What do you want?" Karkat demanded, hands gripping his khakis in tight fists.  "And what the fuck did you do to me? I don't understand what's happening and I don't fucking like it!"  Dave held his hands up, placatingly.

 

"Look, I didn't want this to happen either, alright?  I thought the booth was soundproofed or I woulda kept my mouth shut, but here we are and we gotta make the best of it.  I thought you might wanna know what was happening, since you were smart enough to catch that my seductive allure is not just from my sexy looks.  Most people don't pick up on that little fact." He sighed. "Question is, are you gonna believe me when I tell you, or are you gonna think I'm some creep trying to get into your pants."

 

Karkat's heart pounded at the implication in Dave's words and he sputtered, trying to find a way to respond.  Dave cut him off before he could. "I know this sounds stupid, but there's a lot more to this world than you can see, dude.  Things walking among you that y'all are oblivious to, either from not caring or not wanting to know. Things like me."

 

"So what, are you some kind of fairy or something, is that what you're trying to pitch me here, Strider?"

 

"Or something, yeah."  Dave crossed his arms and dropped his head onto them.  "And you got a good enough look and listen that you're caught in the damn compulsion field, which I swear to god I did not do on purpose, so don't go implying that I  _ wanted _ to bang you in a sound booth but-"

 

"Excuse me?" Karkat choked, looking around to see who was listening.  The last thing he needed was someone else being privy to this ridiculous conversation, especially now that it had taken a leap into the deep end of "fucking inane."

 

Dave sighed.  "You know what they say about good stories, Karkles?  They all start with a grain of truth. What do you know about mythology?  Specifically the Greeks, I think they got it pretty close."

 

"Don't fucking call me Karkles!  How the fuck do you even know my name?"

 

"Focus, Kit-Kat.  The question." Karkat ground his teeth so hard it was audible.

 

"I don't know what kind of answer you're looking for here, Dave.  What, do you expect me to just prattle off four centuries worth of history and myth until I touch on what you want, you asslicking toebiter?  I'd leave you here right now if I thought I had the choice, so just tell me what you want so I can go home and pretend none of this ever happened."

 

"Fair enough."  Dave's eyebrow crept up from behind his shades.  "What do you know about sirens?" Karkat rolled his eyes and dug through his memory for something useful.

 

"Sirens were Greek creatures - the predecessors to mermaids, people think, but that's not really true.  The mermaid thing came from selkies - sirens were birds. They were originally women, who angered the goddess Demeter when they failed to stop Persephone from being abducted, and were trapped in winged form forever.  Their voices would draw... sailors..." he trailed off, remembering what had happened in the booth. Dave singing, drawing him in and making him desire...

 

Karkat felt weak.  "No."

 

Dave dropped another heart-stopping smile.  "Grade A fucked-up bird dude, at your service," he said, his tone full of laughter.  "Though, I'm a little short on the whole feathers and claws thing? Seems to have skipped a generation.  Hence why I'm here at this institute of higher bullshit instead of chillin' on an island over in the gulf."

 

Karkat shook his head.  This wasn't possible. Nothing made sense.  If Strider was a siren, that meant...

 

Dave nodded, as though reading his thoughts.  "Yup. It's all true. Werewolves, vampires, hedonistic gods that zap you into a swan and then pump a baby into you.  All of it's real. But none of that matters. That's not really relevant to you and your... situation."

 

" _ Situation _ ." Karkat breathed.  The room spun.

 

"Yeah, and again, I'm super sorry about that.  We can go back to the booth now if you want and take care of it, and then you'll never have to think about me again, promise.  I can make that happen easier than kicking a toddler off a roof, you'll see." Karkat stared at Dave blankly. His hands felt tingly.  Shock? Was this what shock felt like?

 

"And w-what would we be doing in the booth exactly?" he croaked out.  Dave blushed - it was a very nice look on him - and looked down at his hands.

 

"Well, the thing about the compulsion is that, um.  It makes you wanna, uh. Dude, I know you know what I mean, please don't make me spell this out to you like a chump."  Karkat blinked, and Dave groaned. "Alright, it works like this. You hear the siren's song, and you get drawn to wherever they are by the need to... uh... fuck.  To be blunt. And it'll wear off on it's own... in a year or so. Or, you take care of it. You make it to the siren and actually fuck the plucky bastard? It's song loses power over you, and you walk away."

 

Karkat nodded absently, listening to Dave's explanation with a face of stone.  "I see," he muttered. "Excuse me for a moment."

 

He pushed his way up from the table on unsteady legs and hobbled to the bathroom, where he promptly threw up.

* * *

 

Karkat skipped shop class the next day.  He had woken up with his hand wrapped around his dick, moaning Dave's name, and that seemed like a good enough reason as any to put as much distance between himself and the man as humanly possible.  He wished he could say he didn't believe any of it - that it was a cruel prank, and that hiding in the McDonalds bathroom until he was sure that Dave was gone was just his way of ignoring said prank, but that was bullshit and he knew it.  Every step he took that was not in the direction of the theatre took extra effort to maintain, and that was enough proof for him that something was dreadfully wrong.

 

He wanted to tell someone.  To expose Dave for what he was, and never have to look at him again.  But then he remembered what Strider had said - "it'll wear off on its own... in a year or so."  The thought of keeping this up for an entire year, this constant throbbing ache in his gut (and tent in his pants) - it was too much.  What could he do, though? His body wanted him to give in and fuck Dave senseless, but his brain told him every reason why that was a bad plan.

 

He'd just go talk to him.  That couldn't hurt, right? Class was almost over, and Dave would still be up in the booth.  He'd just go talk to the guy, demand to know what other options he had to get this stupid compulsion gone and over with.  Surely he was just fucking with him. There had to be other options. Yeah, that's what he'd do.

 

Karkat snuck past some underclassmen whose names he simply did not remember, and gave them a bag of chips to keep them quiet about him skipping class before pushing open the door to the stairwell.  He paused and locked the door behind him. No one needed to hear their conversation, he told himself. Getting chucked into the looney bin was a surefire way to make sure he never got his degree.

 

The door to the booth was closed, and music pounded behind it, coming from the booth speakers.  The bass echoed his pounding heart, and he fought the urge to look inside. Taking a deep breath, he threw the door open and stepped inside.

 

"Strider, we need-"  But the booth was empty.  He blinked at the room, as if expecting Dave to appear there by magic, and when nothing changed he groaned, dropping to the floor and leaning his back against the wall.  Wonderful. If he wasn't here, then where the fuck was he?

 

The roiling heat in his gut was back, hotter than it had been since the first moment he saw Dave's eyes in this booth.  He could almost picture the boy across from him, his muscles shifting and moving strangely under skin just this side of too pale, reaching for him.  He reached out, too, and frowned when there was nothing there. Of course. Why would there be?

 

The door to the booth fell closed behind him and he jumped.  God, he was on edge. It was hard to think, hard to function, especially with this hard-on threatening to rip his pants open if he didn't take care of it.  He sighed. The door was locked. No one was going to see him. No reason not to deal with it now so he didn't have to walk back to his dorm with a boner.

 

The first touch against him felt like fire, burning away at his cock in the best way possible.  His skin was flushed with need, and he stroked desperately, almost painfully rough. Images of Dave's lithe movements flashed through his mind as he came, embarrassingly quickly, into his hand.  Shame followed the heat. He just jerked it in a sound booth because of some magical asshat who couldn't bother to even be where he says he will - definitely the pinnacle of his college career.

 

Karkat grimaced, wiped his hand on a discarded napkin someone left in the booth, and tucked himself back into his pants, leaving the sound booth door open behind him as he wandered home.

 

For the next three days, Karkat ended his evening in the sound booth, touching himself and dreaming of Dave.  He had no idea where the boy had run off to, or why he was getting away with skipping rehearsals, but he had a feeling it had something to do with his magic eyes and the thought made him furious.  He knew that Dave was avoiding him, and he was less than appreciative. There was no way the siren didn't know what he was doing to Karkat, and the fact that he was letting him suffer instead of facing him proved just how much of a coward he was.  He felt himself getting close, hunched over and moaning in the booth, and-

 

"What the fuck are you doing?"

 

Karkat screamed and cracked his head off the table, jostling the sound board and desperately trying to pull his pants up.  "What the fuck? How did you get up here? I locked the door!" Dave just smirked and reached into his pocket.

 

"I have the keys, dumbass," he said, dangling them in front of Karkat's bright red face.  He stepped over him and plopped himself down in the chair, one of his eyebrows running for his hairline.  "Decided to apologize on walking out on our dinner date the other night? That's okay, I forgive you."

 

"First off," Karkat began, scooting as far away from Dave as was possible in the confined space.  It wasn't far enough, and he could feel his body fighting him, trying to tackle Strider and rip his clothes off then and there.  "FIRST off, it was not a fucking dinner date - neither of us even ate anything, jackass! Second, where the fuck have you been? I've been trying to find you for days!"

 

"Not tryin' very hard, clearly," he said, pulling out his laptop and booting it up.  "I've been all over. I figured you wanted to just wait it out since you left me like a blushin' virgin at the altar."  Karkat reached up and slammed the laptop shut on Dave's hand.

 

"We are having a fucking discussion!  Get your head out of your computer for five seconds!"  Dave's face grew stony - dark and calm, an ocean preparing for a tsunami.

 

"Alright.  Talk."

 

Karkat swallowed.  "Look, there has to be some way to end this fucking compulsion.  I can't be up here every night with my hand down my pants - someone is going to catch me, and I'm definitely going to fail my classes if this doesn't quit.  I need you to turn it off so I can move on with my fucking life."

 

"I already told you how to fix it.  You don't think I'd just turn it off if I could?  It's not that simple. This existence isn't exactly a walk in the fucking park for me either, sunshine."  He almost looked... upset? Karkat felt like an asshole, but his pride was too strong to apologize.

 

"What, so you're telling me I have to fuck you.  Right here. Why not anywhere else? Why couldn't we just go back to my dorm and-"

 

"It has to be where you heard the song.  That's part of the deal. Don't ask me why, I think it's fuckin' stupid, but I didn't really get a say when I was born as an immortal bird-demon."  He sighed and rubbed at his eyes behind his glasses. "I just wanted to give you the out, because it was my fault you got dragged into this mess in the first place.  If not, I wouldn't have bothered."

 

Karkat searched Dave's face for any sign he could be lying, and came back with nothing but frustration and sadness.  He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Alright. I'm going to take that at face value. So what you're saying is that we both got the shaft here, and this wasn't some elaborate scheme to make my life a waking nightmare?"

 

"No, dude, I don't even know you, as you've repeatedly reminded me in our brief yet titillatin’ interactions," Dave deadpanned.  Karkat nodded.

 

"Okay.  That's a little better at least.  So... what do we do?"

 

Dave shrugged.  "Hell if I know.  You've made it pretty clear that you don't want any of this," he gestured to himself, "so I dunno what to do except hope you can wait it out.  I'll do a bit of research, see if my Bro has any idea what might work, but we're not exactly on the best of terms, so no promises on that front."

 

The air hung tense.  "So... I guess I'll go then," Karkat muttered, standing up to leave, just as Dave reached over to plug his laptop into the sound board.  The siren's arm brushed him, and Karkat felt a punch of arousal straight to the gut that he simply couldn't ignore. He threw himself forward, pinning Dave to his chair and slamming their mouths together, desperate to just... just...

 

He ground their hips together and they both moaned, drowned out by the music.  Dave's groan was musical, lyrical, and it drove Karkat even further. This was it.  This was the answer.

 

Dave pushed him back gently, breaking the kiss with a gasp.  "Wait, wait! Dude, you just said you didn't-"

 

"I know what I said, Strider, now shut up and take your fucking shirt off before I tear it off," Karkat growled, kissing along the line of Dave's jaw and hanging on every noise he made like they were what filled his lungs instead of air.  Hell, maybe they did - he didn't know how magical music worked, and he wasn't going to learn while gnawing at Dave's ear, but fuck, he didn't care.

 

Dave struggled with the bottom of his shirt, trying to take it off, and Karkat whined at the loss of contact when he finally got it over his head.  It took his shades with it, and Karkat was staring into his bottomless, achingly beautiful eyes and nothing else mattered.

 

"Wow..." he whispered, and leaned in to kiss Dave again.

 

Somehow, the two managed to strip out of their clothes, and sat bare-assed on the carpeted floor of the booth.  Whenever a negative thought (how gross is this floor anyway?) popped into Karkat's mind (I don't even like this guy!) he caught a glimpse of Dave's eyes (I've never done this before!) and everything in his brain relaxed back into mush.  Everything was fine. Nothing to worry about.

 

Dave's brow furrowed and Karkat frowned.  No, he wasn't supposed to be worried, this is fun!  This is okay! Everything is fine! He reached up and stroked the side of Dave's face gently, trying to make his muscles relax.  No dice.

 

Words were beyond him at this point, and Karkat didn't care what his measly voice could do anyway.  He wanted to make Dave sing. So he did the only thing he knew to make that happen - crawled over to him and leaned down, licking a stripe straight up the boy's dick before sliding it deep into his throat.  Karkat expected it to be difficult, for the muscles to protest or for his gag reflex to kick in, but instead Dave let out a gasping cry and he relaxed, taking him deep with no effort at all. This was wonderful.  This was perfection.

 

Karkat moaned around Dave's dick, taking in the small protesting sounds that he made and melting into them.  He lived for those sounds. Dave's hands found their way to his hair and Karkat whined. He tasted salt and something heady and warm and he wanted more than this.  Pulling off of Dave with a "pop," he straddled the boy's lap and sank down on him with a sigh.

 

It burned (I should have used lube, I should have prepped first, why did I think this was a good idea?) and Karkat's breath hitched in his chest as he pushed down farther, staring into Dave's eyes.  The siren was wound tight as a spring, and he whimpered as Karkat took him, shaking his head slightly. Karkat didn't understand - wasn't this good? Didn't it feel good?

 

And it did feel good, under the pain of it all.  Pleasing Dave felt good. Having him inside, where he belonged, felt good.  It just... also hurt a bit. But that was okay! He was fine. He felt himself start to relax around Dave as he rode him, drinking the small gasps and moans and whatever it was he was babbling about, until Dave started to shake under him.  Karkat knew that feeling, and he urged him on, laying kisses along his face and neck.

 

Dave threw his head back and came with a moan, bucking up into Karkat and making him see stars.  The force of the noise worked its way into Karkat's head and he came as well, forcing himself to stay quiet so he could properly hear the symphony pouring from Dave’s chest.  They breathed together for a moment, panting and gasping, until the worst of their respective highs had passed, and Dave spoke.

 

"B-better?" he asked, trying to catch Karkat's eye.  A jolt of panic spread through Karkat as he turned his gaze to Dave - what if it started all over? - but he relaxed with a sigh when no compulsion overtook him.

 

"Better," he agreed, shifting to move off of Dave and wincing in pain at the soreness there.  His ass ached, and he made a resolute decision to go take a long, warm shower and check for damage.

 

"Good," Dave said, quietly as Karkat climbed off of him.  He reached for his pants quickly, slipping them on and following with his shirt, and then his shades before Karkat managed even his boxers.  Now that the haze of sex was wearing off, Karkat could tell something was wrong.

 

"Are... you okay?"

 

Dave wouldn't look at him, and it hurt him in a way that had nothing to do with compulsion.  "Yeah, I'm fine. You good now? Not still drivin' to jump my bones?" He let out a pained laugh, and guilt dropped a pound of lead into Karkat's stomach.  The reality of what happened hit him hard and fast and now he wanted to shower for an entirely different reason.

 

"I'm... I'm really sorry, Dave," he said, clutching his shirt in his hands like a lifeline.  "I... I didn't..."

 

"Didn't mean to, I know.  Like I said, it was my bad anyway.  It's fine. Not the first time, won't be the last I'm sure."  He pulled himself up off the floor, ignoring Karkat's outstretched hand, and snapped his laptop shut.  "Just glad you're alright. I should leave you alone. You're gonna be super tired once the compulsion wears off the rest of the way, so you might wanna get back to your dorm and sleep it off."  He stopped for a moment, turned to Karkat, and whistled a lilting tune. It was beautiful, but Karkat didn't feel anything special. Dave nodded. "Just checkin'."

 

He stopped at the door.  "Sorry. Again. For all of this.  You can go on with your life, now, and I guess we don't gotta bother with me keeping these on all the time when you're around if you ever wanna... hang out or something," he said, his voice not-quite-casual.  Karkat opened his mouth to respond, but Dave laughed derisively. "Fuck, who am I kiddin.' See you around."

 

And he was gone.  Karkat stood in the booth alone, pulling his clothes on, and worried.  Before he left, he grabbed the list of contact info for the tech crew and copied Dave's number into his phone.

 

DAVE STRIDER

+555-413-6969

KV: HEY.  WE UH. NEVER DID HAVE DINNER THE OTHER NIGHT.

KV: I FEEL LIKE I OWE YOU THAT MUCH?  THOUGH THIS IS KINDA

KV: BACKWARDS.

KV: FUCK NEVERMIND FORGET IT I'M SORRY.

DS: that sounds cool

KV: WAIT WHAT REALLY?

DS: yeah i guess

DS: not like i got a lot of other dudes clambering to hang with me

DS: okay well maybe i do but

DS: fuck you know what i mean

DS: you wanna grab munchies im game

DS: going to dinner with the guy who just rawed you in a sound booth has to be like

DS: at least somewhat ironic right

KV: HOW ABOUT FRIDAY?

DS: fridays cool yeah

KV: COOL.

 


End file.
